Wayne Muromoto
Commentary
Special to The Hawai‘i Herald

It was pretty funny the first time I met Harry Tsuchidana a couple of decades ago. It was for an interview for The Hawai‘i Herald. I knocked on the door of his apartment studio. It swung open and there was Harry, his mouth agape, eyes bulging out wildly as if he had seen a ghost.

I introduced myself. He kept staring at me until, finally, he invited me in. I just had to ask him why he was looking at me like a crazy man.

“Wait, wait . . .” he said, rummaging around his cramped and busy artist’s studio until he pulled out a photograph.

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